


music from the heart

by Daecyan_Shikoba



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 08:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16991688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daecyan_Shikoba/pseuds/Daecyan_Shikoba
Summary: Steve steps into the workshop as quietly as he can, afraid that if Tony notices him he’ll stop singing and Steveneverwants him to stop. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, and just listens.





	music from the heart

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from tumblr in light of tumblr's nonsense
> 
> arguably one of my favorite early stony works, inspired by an ask sent into captainstarkreportingforduty on tumblr that i couldn't resist

Steve’s frowning down at his busted tablet when Natasha wanders by. She takes one look at him, and the tablet, and sighs.

“Tony’s going to cry,” she informs him, “and he’ll be offended that you managed to break something he created. He’ll probably immediately start trying to figure out how to make it even stronger.”

“It was an accident,” Steve sighs, looking up. “Guess I should probably take this to him.”

Nat nods, grinning just a bit. “Best to rip the bandaid off.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and waves at her as he heads for the elevator. The doors slide open, he steps in, presses the button for Tony’s workshop floor, and slumps against the wall when the door shuts and the elevator starts its descent.

The trip is short and quick, of course, and soon Steve’s stepping off into the hallway. He can see Tony working through the glass wall of the workshop, and he grins to himself as he watches Tony for a moment, enamored. Steve enters his pass code at the door, and freezes in the doorway because  _Tony is singing_ and it’s possibly the most beautiful sound Steve’s ever heard in his life.

Steve steps into the workshop as quietly as he can, afraid that if Tony notices him he’ll stop singing and Steve  _never_  wants him to stop. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, and just listens.

+++

He’s been spending more time with Tony down in the workshop, sitting unobtrusively on the couch in the corner either reading or sketching. Tony talks at him a lot, and at first Steve didn’t understand a whole lot of what he was saying but now Steve can follow at least half of it. A quarter of which are pop culture references. Tony’s certainly been inspiring when it comes to catching up on all that.

Steve hasn’t caught Tony singing since that first time, unfortunately. Not that he’d started hanging around the workshop for that purpose. It’s just that Tony’s voice was so beautiful and Steve wants it in his life. He maybe could just ask Tony but that’s… That’s  _embarrassing_. 

So he keeps hoping it’ll happen again.

It doesn’t. Not for a long while. Then a few hours after Steve’s collapsed on the couch, exhausted and sore from the battle earlier that morning, Tony starts humming as he limps around the workshop, working on repairs for the armor. Steve is half-asleep, eyes half-mast as he watches Tony, worried about him because Tony’s still terrifyingly nonchalant about his own injuries, the contradictory bastard.  _God forbid_  Steve or any of the others try to play off an injury.

He doesn’t think anything of the humming. It’s not all that unusual for Tony to start humming to himself when he’s working. Steve’s pretty sure it helps Tony concentrate. He’s noticed Tony doesn’t work the best in silence.

Then the humming becomes  _singing_  and suddenly Steve is much more alert. He doesn’t recognize the song, though that’s not too surprising because it’s in  _Italian_. Still, it’s beautiful and Tony is beautiful and Steve’s got a thousand butterflies in his stomach.

Steve’s ninety percent certain Tony’s forgotten he’s there. It’s the only explanation he has for this, because in all the months he’s spent in the workshop with Tony, he’s never once sang. Steve isn’t sure why, if it’s something Tony’s shy about - which, he can’t really imagine Tony being shy about  _anything_  but Tony is very good at surprising Steve - or if he’s just gotta be in a certain mood to do it. Regardless, Steve’s fine with being forgotten if it means he gets to hear Tony sing again.

An hour and several songs later, Tony crouches down to pick something up off the floor and groans, pained, and Steve’s up off the couch in a flash to help him. Tony startles and falls flat on his ass, eyes going wide and a little nervous as he stares up at Steve. Steve offers his hand, and pulls Tony up when he takes it, then uses his hold to tug Tony over to the couch.

“How - Uh. How long have you been in here?” Tony asks, voice gone a little high, and Steve huffs.

“Been in here since we got back, Tony,” he replies, and Tony’s face goes bright red. Steve stares, stunned, because he can count on  _one hand_  the number of times he can say he’s seen Tony Stark blush. This time counts as number one.

“Ah, I see,” Tony says, expression pinched. “Well, that’s embarrassing. Sorry for subjecting you to my singing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve protests, glaring a little at him. “You have a very nice voice.”

“What,” Tony squeaks, clears his throat, and narrows his eyes at Steve. “You don’t have to flatter me, Rogers, I know what my voice sounds like, and it’s not great.”

Steve scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. He guesses this answers his question, and he’d very much like to find whoever it was that made Tony think this about his singing so he could give them a  _talking to_. Or possibly just to sock them in the jaw. Steve isn’t feeling to picky, right now.

“Well, I think you need to have your hearing checked, Tony. Your voice is gorgeous,” he declares, tone brooking no argument. “I wouldn’t actually ‘endure it’ if I didn’t like the sound of your voice.”

That startles a laugh out of Tony, nervous as it is, and Steve smiles. “Jeez, Steve, you telling me you’d actually be a jerk to someone if you didn’t like the sound of their voice?”

“ _No_ ,” he protests, still grinning, and shakes his head at Tony. “’Course not; I do have  _some_ tact when it comes to interacting with people. I’d probably just clear my throat to get the person’s attention, or sneak out before they noticed me.”

“Ugh,” Tony groans, wrinkling his nose. “ _Boy scout_.”

“I was never a boy scout,” Steve tells him.

Tony chuckles. “Spoilsport.”

“Yeah, you’ve accused me of that several times,” Steve says dryly, and Tony smiles brightly at him.

The butterflies that were in Steve’s stomach earlier start up again, and Steve can feel heat creeping into his cheeks. One day, he thinks a little ruefully, Tony will smile at him and he won’t be tongue-tied or left with sweaty palms. Until then, all he can do is smile shyly back and surreptitiously wipe his hands off on his pants, hope Tony doesn’t notice his nerves, and maybe compose himself before it gets awkward.

“Well I’ll stop accusing you of being a spoilsport when you stop being one,” Tony laughs, then yawns so wide his jaw cracks. “Ugh, I need coffee.”

“No, you need sleep,” Steve counters, and Tony scowls at him. “Don’t give me that look. You need sleep, in an actual bed, and probably food.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” Tony counters, then frowns thoughtfully. “I could go for some food, actually… Hey, wait a minute, if you’ve been down here the entire time too then  _you_  need to eat! Don’t pretend like you don’t, Mr. I Could Eat An Entire Horse And Still Be Hungry.”

Steve flushes and ducks his head. “That is not my fault.”

“Aw, I never said it was,” Tony replies, fond. “You know I don’t mind, and you know I can  _definitely_  afford it.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair. “How about we go find something to eat?”

“Sure, Steve,” Tony smiles softly.

+++

It’s another couple months before Steve gets to hear Tony sing, during which time he’s spent a lot of time with Tony outside of the workshop, usually going to baseball games and heckling the Yankees or taking a walk through Central Park while eating hot dogs they bought from a cart. He’s pieced together enough to know Tony doesn’t sing in front of  _anyone_  except JARVIS and the bots, and that he’s really, really shy with regards to his singing. Steve can understand; he still gets reluctant and bashful about showing people his artwork.

So, when he comes to to Tony’s voice singing a song Steve actually recognizes, he’s understandably confused. He’s also in a  _lot_  of pain and it takes a couple minutes before he remembers anything beyond the pain and Tony’s voice. Right. Battle with, ah, someone. He doesn’t remember who, but he does know there was a battle.

And that whatever or whoever they were battling got a few good hits in, apparently.

Steve cracks his eyes open just enough to see where he is - medical on the Helicarrier - and how long he’s been out. Tony’s sitting next to the hospital bed, pale and drawn, staring down at where his hand is wrapped around Steve’s and huh. Steve hadn’t noticed that. Which is probably something he ought to be concerned about but he’s too busy feeling warm and fluttery about Tony  _holding his hand_.

Tony’s voice hitches on the next verse, and Steve squeezes his fingers comfortingly even if it means Tony’ll stop singing. Tony startles, gaze snapping up to Steve’s face, and relief breaks out over Tony’s face, his shoulders slumping. Steve feels guilty for worrying Tony so much.

“Fuck, Winghead,” Tony croaks, his grip on Steve’s hand tightening. “You asshole.”

“Sorry, Shellhead,” Steve rasps, coughs, and Tony’s expression tightens again.

“Shut up,” he says, reaching for a cup of water with a straw and holding it up for Steve to drink. “Jesus, nobody knew what was wrong.”

“Wha’ happened?” Steve manages, ignoring Tony’s sharp look, and gets his free hand up to push the cup away.

“ _Loki,”_ Tony hisses, eyes sharp and full of anger. “He whammied you with  _something_ , we don’t know what other than fucking  _magic_ , but you went - Jesus, Steve, you went down and you wouldn’t get back up - Didn’t  _wake up_  and I - ”

“Hey, hey, s’okay, I’m okay,” Steve says gently, voice rough and throat sore, and squeezes Tony’s hand again.

Tony squeezes back, so tightly Steve actually looses feeling in his fingers, his gaze boring into Steve and Steve feels stripped bare by it. It’s a strange feeling, one he hasn’t felt in a long time. It’s not as unpleasant a feeling as he remembers it being, but maybe that’s because it’s  _Tony._

_“_ I promise,” he adds, because it really does look like Tony could use the assurance. For a moment he feels like he’s back in his sickly, skinny body trying to convince Bucky he’ll be alright. He keeps holding Tony’s hand.

“I better let the nurses know you’re awake,” Tony chokes out after a couple minutes of them staring at each other. He doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand, though. In fact, he looks as though letting Steve out of his sight is the  _very last thing_  he’s willing to do.

Steve smiles, a little lopsided and much too fond, and readjusts his grip on Tony’s hand so he can lace their fingers together. “Or you could sing to me some more,” he suggests softly, stroking his thumb along the back of Tony’s hand.

Tony blushes, looking back down at their hands. “Ah - I. Why would you want that?”

“Told you,” Steve mumbles, eyes growing heavy, “I like the sound of your voice. S’nice. Real nice.”

“I - Well, I guess, seeing as you’re laid up in bed, looking like you’re ready to fall back asleep,” Tony murmurs.

Steve hums. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Tony says hoarsely. He clears his throat a couple times, takes a deep breath, and starts singing low and soft. Steve drifts off to Tony’s voice, hands clutched together and a fond smile on his face.

+++

Natasha corners Steve a week later, jabbing her finger in his chest. “Drag Stark out of his self-imposed exile before I do it,” she orders.

Steve winces. “I’ll try, Nat, but I can’t make Tony do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

“Yes you can,” she counters, stabbing her finger into his chest again to make her point. “He always listens to you, and even if he didn’t you can milk his guilt right now.”

“ _Nat_ ,” Steve hisses, unimpressed. He  _hates_  that Tony feels guilty for something that  _wasn’t his fucking fault_. There’s no way in hell he’s going to use that against Tony.

“You’re right,” Nat sighs, grimacing. “That’s not your style.”

“Not even close,” Steve agrees, expression stern.

“Well, whatever you do, get him out of that damned workshop and out of his head.”

Steve blows out a breath, nods once, sharply, and does an about-face to head for the elevator. Clint tosses him a thumbs up as he wanders out, like he knows exactly where Steve’s headed, which he probably does, and makes a beeline for the kitchen. Steve tries to come up with something he can say to convince Tony he has no reason to blame himself for what happened to Steve, but if it were that easy Steve would’ve done it for every other thing Tony blames himself for.

So Steve’d been laid out in medical for almost a week after that battle with Loki, it happens. Maybe not to him; at least, not very often, but, God, it  _wasn’t Tony’s fault_. Tony couldn’t have stopped Loki from hitting him with that spell, no matter what. That spell could have  _killed_  Tony, had it hit him instead of Steve.

The elevator reaches the desired floor before Steve’s managed to think of anything, and he sighs as he steps out of it. He’s pretty okay at improvisation, at least. That’ll just have to do for the time being.

The workshop lights are dimmed, and Steve doesn’t see Tony right away. He almost thinks Tony’s snuck off somewhere else preemptively, but then he spots him at the very back, sitting on the floor as he does something to Butterfingers’s left wheel. The relief he feels is possibly unwarranted, but Tony  _has_  been known to run when he gets like this.

He puts in his pass code, and walks in silently, stilling just beyond the doorway when he realizes Tony’s singing. A memory rolls across his mind lazily, hazy and bright and warm, of Tony’s hand in his and Tony’s voice in his ear. Tony’d  _sung to him_ , and Steve wants to kiss him so badly his fingers ache to reach out.

Instead of doing that, Steve presses his back to the wall and slides down it until he’s sitting, tucking his hands under his thighs. Tony’s never shown any interest in Steve like that -  _and why would he_? a derisive voice in his head demands - and Steve’s afraid of messing up their friendship. Tony means way too much to him to go and ruin it just because he keeps falling a little bit more in love with Tony every damn day.

“I know you’re there Steve,” Tony says softly when he’s finished the song, and Steve splutters, feels his face go hot. “JARVIS told me you were on your way down.”

“I see,” Steve manages, voice slightly strangled.

“Asked him to warn me if anyone was coming to try and drag me out of the workshop,” Tony says, voice a little cold and a lot brittle.

“We’re worried about you,” Steve says, earnest, a little distraught despite himself.

Tony glances at him over his shoulder, and Steve feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He looks  _wretched_ , dark, dark circles around bloodshot eyes, his face ashen. It’s clear Tony hasn’t been sleeping. Steve’s heart clenches. He wants to wrap Tony up in his arms, protect him from every awful thing that’s ever happened or ever will happen to him. It’s not a new feeling.

“I’ll be alright, Cap,” Tony replies after a moment, forced lightness in his voice. “Always am.”

“Tony,” Steve murmurs plaintively, an ache starting up in his chest, and he pushes himself to his feet before he can think better of it, removing the distance between them so he can crouch down beside Tony and pull him into a tight hug.

Tony goes rigid in his arms for a moment, then melts into the embrace. He turns fully into Steve’s hold, hiding his face against Steve’s shoulder, and Steve closes his eyes as Tony’s arms wrap around his waist. He reaches up, cupping the back of Tony’s head with one hand, and turns his head to press his nose to Tony’s hair.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers against Tony’s temple, and tightens his hold when Tony starts shaking in his arms. “It wasn’t your fault,” he repeats.

“Shut -  _Shut up_ ,” Tony snarls against his collarbone, sounding desperate and wounded. “I wasn’t - I could have -  _I wasn’t good enough_!”

“Oh, Tony, honey,” Steve murmurs sadly, stroking his other hand along Tony’s spine soothingly. “You’re  _more_  than good enough. What happened wasn’t your fault. I hate that you think it was, I hate that this is hurting you.”

Tony lets out a broken little sound that shreds Steve’s heart to pieces, and Steve bites the inside of his cheek when he realizes the collar of his shirt is growing wet. Tony is  _crying_  and Steve’s eyes burn.

They sit like that for, well. Steve’s not sure. He lost track of time, at some point. He just knows they sit like that for a  _long time_. Long enough Steve’s legs have gone all tingly and numb. Tony’s still shaking, still clinging tightly to him, and Steve really doesn’t want to let go of him either.

So he makes sure he has a good grip on Tony and stands up, regretting it almost immediately when his numb legs remind him how  _terrible_  an idea it is to stand up holding a grown man when he  _can’t feel them_. Tony gives a startled little squeak, arms tightening around Steve’s neck reflexively, and Steve readjusts his grip before carrying Tony out of the workshop and towards the elevator.

“My floor, please, J,” Steve requests, once they’re on the elevator.

“Certainly, Captain,” JARVIS agrees, and the elevator starts its ascent, smooth and quiet.

“What’re you doing, Steve?” Tony asks, weary and muffled against Steve’s shirt.

“Taking care of you,” he answers, sighs softly, and adds, “what I shoulda done sooner.”

Tony grumbles, wordless and sleepy, but he doesn’t actually try to escape Steve’s hold. It’s a little bit  _eerie_ , if Steve’s honest. It doesn’t seem like Tony at all. He’s quiet, and pliant, and it’s  _strange_  but there’s a part of Steve enjoying the way Tony’s just - Just letting Steve  _take care_  of him.

The elevator reaches Steve’s floor and JARVIS opens the doors for them. Steve murmurs a soft ‘thank you’ as he heads for the couch. Tony doesn’t say anything when Steve sits down, keeping Tony in his lap, and Steve wonders what’s going through his head.

“Why are you doing this?” Tony asks eventually, keeping his face tucked into Steve’s throat. “Why’re you comforting me?”

“Because I care about you,” Steve tells him, heart thumping hard and fast because it’s so close to the full truth. If Tony looks closely, he’ll see it. Steve knows that, but he can’t lie or make up a reason.

“ _Why_?” Tony demands, finally pulling away enough to glare up at Steve. “What the hell  _is_  this, Steve? I don’t - I don’t understand what you’re  _thinking_.”

Steve shifts his hold to Tony’s hips, letting him pull as far back as he can, if he wants, without actually removing himself from Steve’s lap. Tony looks puzzled, a wrinkle forming between his brows, and it’s possibly one of the most adorable expressions Steve’s ever seen. He can feel his face burning as they stare at each other, and it feels like they’re at a stand still, both too stubborn to break the silence that’s fallen over them.

Finally, Steve breathes out long and slow, fingers tightening minutely on Tony’s hips unintentionally, and Tony’s eyes widen. “Why do I care? Are you - Tony.  _Hell_ , how can I  _not_  care about you? You’ve done so much for me, for the Avengers. Christ, you gave me a  _home_  even though you didn’t have to. Even though, at the time, you had more reason to turn me away than to give me a floor in your tower.

“You spend hours you don’t have designing or upgrading stuff for us. You make sure we have everything we could want or need. You’re the most generous, kind man I’ve ever met, even if you try and pretend like you’re not. So tell me again how I couldn’t know all that and not care about you?”

Tony stares at him, eyes wide, a flush slowly working its way across his cheeks. “I - You - You can’t just - Steve?”

Steve swallows, eyes tracking over Tony’s face for a beat, two, then reaches up to cup his cheek, sweeping his thumb across his cheek bone. Tony blinks, leaning into the touch, and Steve’s heart jumps, skips a beat or three. He feels like he’d be soaring, if Tony weren’t in his lap, anchoring him.

“I - Tony, I. Can I - ?” Steve stammers, swallows down his nerves.

“Yeah,” Tony breathes, swaying back into Steve’s space.

“Yeah?” Steve repeats, stunned, then smiles shyly. He draws Tony to him as he leans forward, bringing their mouths together in a chaste kiss. It’s over too quickly, and Steve pulls him back in for another kiss. Tony reaches up, threading his fingers through Steve’s hair, shifting until he’s straddling Steve’s lap and their chests are pressed together.

Eventually they need to breathe, and Steve pulls back just far enough to press his forehead to Tony’s. His eyes are shut -  _when did he close them?_  - and his heart is racing.

“Well that was not something I thought would ever happen,” Tony rasps after a bit, and Steve blinks his eyes open to meet Tony’s gaze. “Believe me, I’m glad it did.  _Very_  glad. I just - Ah, I didn’t. Know.”

“I’m going to kiss you again,” Steve replies, and does just that. Tony moans into it, fingers tugging at Steve’s hair lightly, opening his mouth to it, tongue licking along the seam of Steve’s lips.

A little - a  _long_  while later, Tony and Steve are stretched out on the couch, Tony lying on Steve’s chest. Steve’s eyes are closed, listening to Tony’s breathing, stroking his fingers along Tony’s spine. Tony hums every once in awhile, content, nuzzling his face into Steve’s throat.

“I have to ask,” he says, “are you just biased because you like me or do you really think I have a nice singing voice?”

Steve smiles at the ceiling, opening his eyes and craning his neck to look at Tony. “You have the most gorgeous voice I’ve ever heard, Tony. I could listen to you sing for hours.”

Tony flushes, smiles shyly, and reaches up to cover Steve’s face with his hand. “Shut up, you flatterer.”

“You asked,” Steve points out, kissing Tony’s palm. “I’m serious, though, sweetheart. I’d compare your voice to that of an angel if I didn’t think it’d offend you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Tony warns jokingly, kisses the underside of Steve’s jaw. “I’ll make you a deal, okay?”

“Okay?”

“You don’t ever scare me like you did last week, and I’ll sing for you whenever you want.”

“Whenever I want, huh?” Steve muses, smiling, and brings a hand up to cup Tony’s face with it. “I’ll try my best, sweetheart.”

Tony scrunches his nose up, then sighs. “I guess that’s the best I can hope for, with our line of work,” he mutters, settling so his face is once more hidden in Steve’s neck.

They’re both quiet afterwards, basking in the warm feeling of being in each other’s arms. Steve starts to drift off, happy and warm, filing away the feeling of Tony’s weight on top of him, how comforting it is. Tony starts to sing, soft and sweet, and Steve hugs him a little tighter.


End file.
